Rule by Secrecy
by The Sarcasm Master
Summary: The five-chapter companion fic to the Total Drama/Hunger Games crossover "From Drama to Death." Spoilers for said fic follow (SO GO READ IT FIRST). When an act of rebellion starts to spark riots fifty years before the rise of the Mockingjay, the Capitol sends out its troops to quell the rebellion–and to kill everyone involved.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey all. If you may recall, I might have mentioned a certain...companion fic to FDTD that I might be doing. Welp, here it is, on April 5th! Also known as the one year anniversary of FDTD's publication date as well as the birthday of Foreseer44, one of my most avid reviewers! Felt this was an apt gift. XD Happy birthday dude.**

**For those of you who don't know, From Drama To Death was my Total Drama/Hunger Games crossover, and the only one currently complete in the fandom. I would recommend that you read and review that first before reading this. Spoilers and all. And yes, this doubles as a poorly disguised attempt it getting more reviews, thank you very much. XD**

**This fic will only be five chapters long but my hope for it is to change the way you read FDTD and in general just add more depth.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**District 7 Citizen**

**Dawn POV**

I have no idea whether the quiet helps me or not.

I knew that she was done for. I knew that she wouldn't want to win. I knew that had she won she'd have never been the same. I knew that we wanted to make a difference. I'm sure that she tried, even though I or any of the districts ever heard anything about it. At least she got Eva to help her. A kind gesture from a seemingly brutal soul. And from a _Career, _no less. It shows that our efforts weren't for naught. That we did _something _good for the world.

The evening draws out the insects. It's easier for me to think in the woods during the daytime. Evening just brings itches and discomfort. Stupid feeling in my stomach won't go away, even though it's been over twenty-four hours since it happened. Why won't it leave me alone?

Or maybe, why won't I just cry already?

I let out a deep exhale and stand to my feet. The insects' sounds ring in my ears. At another time I might have found them soothing. Comforting. All I can hear now is noise. I scratch the bites on my arms as I start walking back. Uneasiness. Nothing I do can change the feeling that I'm being watched. That any minute they might come for me.

The feeling in my stomach intensifies for a moment as I see crows circling overhead. A foul smell that I can't identify travels on the wind, setting off my gag reflex. Closing my eyes, I ignore the bruise on my knee as I hobble closer and closer to the stench. I nearly trip over a tree root but keep going, ignoring the pain in my ankle. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong here.

I open my eyes and bile rises in my throat. I take an involuntary step back as my head starts to spin.

Lying in a small bog is a rotting corpse. Flies buzz around it, picking and chewing as they please. It is badly mangled and decomposing, but still barely recognizable under my gaze.

His name was Ernest Rivers, Peacekeeper. He was a brutal, dishonest, hypocritical man. Skinny as a scarecrow but had a mean and torturous streak known by all. At least, that's what most people saw. I tried to talk to him and figured out that he'd been bred to be a psychopath from birth. I might have even attempted to...befriend him. Hopefully try to fix him–if not, then just get him on my side. He had merely tolerated me at first but had almost seemed to want to open up to me.

It's too late now. I risk another look at him and note that his uniform is gone. Strange...

It's getting late. I need to get back to town. Curfew is strict and I'm sure the guards would jump at the opportunity to punish me. Bridgette might have not thought things through too well. I love her. She's my best friend. But she often is a bit...naive.

I still can't bring myself to use past tense.

With a resigned sigh I start walking back to town. Another day done, more work tomorrow. I suppose it helps me carry on.

But as I walk back into town and try to wipe the bags out from under my eyes, I start to shiver. Something is off.

Voices shout and scream as people run towards me, or rather away from something else. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion as a woman's shriek pierces through the commotion. What the hell is going on here?

I glance around nervously and pull aside a friend of mine who appears to be hyperventilating. "What happened?" I demand, voice cracking against my will. "What's going on?"

My friend breathes heavily as she looks back to where she'd been running from, then back to me. "Bridgette's parents! Peacekeepers came for them! They beat them and dragged them out of their home and–"

Before she can finish I'm running, and shove her out of the way as I go against the flow of the town. A broad-shouldered man, the baker I think, nearly runs me over in his attempt to escape. I barely manage to dodge, but my foot is trampled in the process. With a yelp I slip out of the way and take some more clandestine routes.

I can't let them be killed. Not so soon after their daughter died.

The sound of gunfire from behind me fills the air and I turn in horror as Peacekeepers block the fleeing villagers. An intercom comes on and I hold my hands to my ears as the feedback nearly bursts my eardrums.

_"Cease retreating, and we will not use lethal force. Citizens of District 7, your presence is requested at town square for the execution of Jacob and Melissa Martin. A lesson needs to be taught. Insurrection will always fail. If you attempt to disrupt the natural order, you will be punished."_

The intercom shuts off and the noise quiets down. The district lines into formation and I slip in, trying to look for my parents. They don't honestly understand why rebellion is necessary. As far as they're concerned, Panem is their home and any unfair treatment was a small price to pay for security. Even if we barely have enough to eat. Even if shit like this happens and no one does anything about it.

I guess I don't understand them either.

I try to get a glimpse of the Martins on the stage but my lack of height doesn't help things. Slowly but surely the people of the district fall into line in town square. Once the execution begins they'll have the prisoners projected on the screens so that everyone can see the execution.

"What do I do, what do I do..." I mutter under my breath as my chest heaves in and out, my heart beating at a rapid pace.

I can't go up there and try to stop them. That would be suicide. What use would I be dead?

But I can't just let them die...

The silence is stone-cold. The screens turn on and I feel bile rise in my throat. Bridgette's parents are shown on the screen, bound and gagged. Her father is beat up and is clutching a bloody arm, while his wife nurses bruises all over her face and arms.

Is this what was happening while I was out trying to find peace in the woods?

The sound of a gun goes off, shocking the last few whispering members of the crowd into silence. The sun is near gone and the horizon is tinted crimson. It's nearly dark.

The Head Peacekeeper of the district walks onto the stage, gun in hand. With a stony look on his face he takes the microphone and glares out at all of us. "We all know Bridgette Martin's character, don't we?" he said casually, pacing around the stage as he talked. "Levelheaded, kind, forgiving...oh, and a complete dumbass."

"You little piece of..." I begin, growling and clenching my fists. It's all I can do not to try to strangle him. Meekness isn't an option here.

"Anyways, seems as though there's been whispers of rebellion going around," the Peacekeeper notes with a sadistic smile on his face. "If it were up to me I'd just drop some tear gas, maybe let some muttations roam free around here for a few days or so," he says as casually as if he were discussing the weather. "But it seems as though we need to set a specific example," he says, gesturing to the Martins. "Their daughter sacrificed her life to try to disrupt Panem. It's only fair that her family be sacrificed to restore peace."

In no universe does that make sense but I know better than to open my mouth.

The Peacekeeper smiles and holds the gun up to Mr. Martin's head. "We'll start with you. Jacob Martin. Blacksmith. Would be funny to decapitate you with one of your own axes but alas I don't have the time." He grins and savors the tension in the air. "So yeah, bullet to the head sound good to you? Good."

The queasiness in my stomach won't go away.

The Peacekeeper prepares to pull the trigger.

A sniper shot rings out through the crowd and the Peacekeeper falls, blood pouring from his head as he collapses to the ground, gun firing into the air as it clangs against the stage.

Immediately, the entire district dissolves into chaos.

Screams and gunfire fill the air as people once again try to flee. A tall woman shoves me out of the way and sends me crashing to the ground, where feet trample and run over me. I cry out, trying to get up. I look on the screen to see that the Martins are no longer on the stage.

People start attacking the Peacekeepers and trying to overpower them. In some cases they are successful but the machine guns are too much. They're mowed down easily. I run for the border, remaining out of the way of the Peacekeepers and the pull of the crowd.

It pays to know the ins and outs of the district as well as I do.

I turn my head to make sure no one is following me, but as I look back a figure crashes into me, sending my aching body to the tile ground. I pant heavily as I try to regain myself. I'm not exactly physically active.

I look up to see Mrs. Martin gasping for breath, the gag around her neck. "Dawn?" she exclaims worriedly.

"Mrs. Martin!" I say. "We need to get out of here! Follow me, PLEASE!"

"Where are we going–"

I ignore her, instead trying to drag her past the edge of the town into the forest. The Peacekeepers' attention are elsewhere. We should be in the clear.

I scream as gunfire trails behind me.

"Hey! Dumb bitch is getting away!"

I curse under my breath. They'll come after us into the woods now. "We have to hurry!" I try to sprint even faster despite my fatigue, and the two of us reach the woods and continue running through the fog.

It's fully night now. Fog seeps against the ground and my stomach turns as I realize that they could unleash poison gas into the woods if they wanted to and no one would know the difference until it's too late. But would they go through that much trouble just to kill two runaways?

I don't have a way to be sure.

My stamina is worn out and it takes all my willpower and a rush of adrenaline to keep me moving away from danger. We zigzag through the trees, trying to shake them and confuse them enough that they'll give up. Part of me knows that it won't work but it's all we can do to try.

"What now?" she whimpers to herself and I realize with a jolt that she's deferring to me. To me. I'm not a leader...I always thought of myself as a mediator. An actual peacekeeper, not like the brutal guards of the district..

"I don't know," I reply with just as much uncertainty.

We stumble into a clearing and immediately realize it was a mistake. The sound of guns cocking is the only thing I can hear as the Peacekeepers slowly walk into the clearing, surely ready to shoot us.

I sigh and close my eyes. I welcome it.

"Wait, stop!"

The voice comes from one of the Peacekeepers, the one in front. He steps forward and motions for his fellow soldiers not to fire. "Don't shoot!"

"What's the deal here?" one of the other soldiers replies. "We came out to kill them! Why aren't we killing them?"

"New orders," the man in front says, keeping his gun trained on us. I move my eyes around and count five soldiers, four of them looking exasperated with the one in charge. "We're to take them back and torture them, clear? They made fools out of us and we need to make them pay."

"I didn't receive no orders," one of them grumbles, advancing closely. "Are you sure you're right in the head, Rivers?"

I tense, my mind flashing back to the body in the bog.

"Positive."

"Rivers" moves closer and keeps us at gunpoint. "Put your hands in the air. Now." Shaking, the two of us oblige. Rivers sighs. "Wouldn't be keeping you alive if I didn't have to."

"Are you sure?" I ask confusedly.

"Well..." he begins, helmet obscuring his face as he looks down at me. Surprisingly, he's not that much taller than me.

"Sir!" one of the other soldiers says. "One of the other soldiers just reported in! Apparently the sniper rifle used to kill the executioner had been remotely triggered! No one was there!"

"You'd be right about that," Rivers mutters. He tenses. "Means that whoever did this knew exactly where the executioner was going to stand and set up the rifle to fire at the exact time. That means that the intruder could be anywhere! You two, go together and search for him!"

"Yes sir!" two of the men reply immediately, leaving "Rivers" and two others with us.

The soldier on the left slams me in the face with his rifle, sending me sputtering to the ground. The other fires a round into my friend's mother, letting out a scream.

It takes physical control to stop myself from attacking him. I've been having that problem a lot today.

Rivers looks at him in what I can only assume to be disapproval despite the fact that his face is still covered. "I didn't say to do that."

"She's still alive, right sir?" the soldier laughs.

Rivers grumbles and turns his head.

"Gotta be careful," he says. "Don't want to mess this up, right–"

The sound of gunfire fills the air and male screams can be heard. The two guards turn.

"What the hell was that?" the guard who pinned me down asks, keening his helmeted head.

A laugh escapes "Rivers."

"That's not your biggest problem right now."

With a single, swift motion, the impostor Peacekeeper slams his gun into the guard holding Mrs. Martin, breaking his visor and sending him to the ground. Before the guard holding me can fire, the impostor beats him to the punch, firing off a round right into his chest.

The guard crumples to the ground, dead.

"What?" I exclaim, voice cracking. I turn my head back and forth as Mrs. Martin chokes for air while applying pressure to the wound in her stomach. I turn to "Rivers."

"Who are you? What are you doing? What's going on here?"

"Wait, hold on," he replies, and takes off his helmet. Underneath is a face that might have once been attractive, with long greasy brown hair and a face shining with sweat.

"Who...are you, exactly?"

The renegade grins as gunfire goes off in the distance. "My name is Agent Shawn Miller. I'm a part of an underground resistance faction aiming to eventually take down the Capitol. Hope you don't mind the rescue."

* * *

**President of Panem**

**Castor Antonius POV**

The most common misconception of running a government is that the ruler's word is law. Not exactly the most logical of reasoning, considering the volatile position–the cutthroat politics involved in this country. I have outlasted many of my contemporaries through manipulation, bribery, and sheer luck. No, my word is not immediately law once it leaves my mouth, despite my authoritarian grip on this nation. Politicians are rarely obedient, and always conniving. They will hound me every step of the way.

Which is why there are perks to being in charge, e.g. being able to remove any threat to my authority without any complaint or inquiry. It's a blessing, really.

I suppose I just contradicted my own thoughts in the space of a few seconds.

I pull the trigger on my gun. Click. No bullet inside.

The gun is a fascinating item for me. I like to tinker with it. Such a crude mashing of metal and parts formed to form a device that creates death. And the imagery that is associated with it. Choose any random citizen. Point a gun at their head and they will be afraid. They _know _what the device is capable of doing. It's been bred into them. This is normal human behavior. We come to expect death when all it takes is the flick of a finger to end a life.

The fear of death is a greater shackle on our minds than death itself.

Fear keeps people in line.

_So why are these people not afraid?_

I pull the trigger again. Nothing happens. I only keep one bullet in my gun at all times. Tends to keep people on their toes about disappointing me. Granted, it becomes tiring to reload the chamber every time. And having to wipe the blood off the floor when someone crosses me one time too many. Pity, pity.

The door opens and Jo Smith walks inside stiffly. I allow a knowing smirk to spread across my face at the understanding between us that will never be verbalized or made known, but will ensure that she remains with the Peacekeepers until she is no longer necessary.

At which point, she will have to be killed. But such is the nature of things. He (or she) who dies young and early certainly cuts off many years of fearing death.

The Victor tucks her hands behind her back, seemingly indifferent to all around her.

I pull up a clip of the sniper shot that took out the Peacekeeper just before the execution of Melissa and Jacob Martin, then the ensuing chaos and riots. The scene changes to the point of view of a Peacekeeper as they corner the peasant girl before...nothing. The screen shuts off and it is silent in the room for a moment as Jo and I meet one anothers' eyes.

"Rebellion cannot be tolerated," I say simply. "These Games...are inciting rebellion, despite the efforts to the contrary."

Jo noticeably hesitates before she speaks. "Should Chris McLean be fired? Or executed?"

I lean back calmly. "No. He didn't control or order Bridgette and DJ's execution. I was visited by someone who made the matter much more clear to me."

"Who?"

I chuckle. "Scarlett Viviane came to me, informed me that McLean had no idea what he was doing. That _she _was the one who ordained their execution."

"Sounds to me like she just dug her own grave if there was still rebellion," Jo notes with a sense of irony. "She wants the credit for this riot?"

I shake my head. "No. Scarlett is an asset...I am, however, keeping close tabs on her. I don't trust her, but I prefer her management to McLean's. I'm personally considering firing him if he can't get his act together."

Jo bites her lip. "So what do I do...sir?"

I make sure to look her in the eyes so that she is as uncomfortable as possible. "Do your job." I pull up a projection of Dawn Raleigh, Cameron Wilkins, and Melissa Martin. "Bring them in and make an example of them. Or else _you'll _be the example. Clear?"

Jo nods, seemingly apathetic. "Yes sir. I'll call Rudolph."

"As you should," I reply politely. "That will be all, thank you dear."

I discern a visible tensing of her muscles as she turns and leaves. Possibly afraid of me shooting her in the back. I can't imagine why. She's useful to me.

I smirk as I pull up a file of McLean. The bastard thinks he can fool me. He orchestrated his predecessor's demise. I know that much. But I do not honestly care.

Because his predecessor killed the one who came before him.

And that one had killed the one that came before _him._

Et cetera.

I have a feeling that the pattern will continue.

I lean back in my chair and close my eyes.

Chris McLean. Scarlett Viviane. Jo Smith. Jose Burromuerto.

As cliche as it is to say, they're pawns. Funny little creatures constantly plotting against each other, constantly at each others throats.

It's cute, really.

I pull the trigger, and the shot leaves a hole in the wall. I hold the metal close to my face, sighing as I examine the smoking device. I set it down.

It says something about how used to it my employees are that no one even bats an eye.

The door opens again and Hatchet walks in, papers in hand. I smile warmly and wave to the battle-scarred man. I like Hatchet. He's been here quite a while. Fought in the war as a soldier before becoming a Gamemaker. He has a code of ethics and is capable of reigning McLean in to some extent.

"Hatchet!" I say cheerfully. "Pleasure to see you. You have papers for me?"

He nods and sets them down. "More reports of the riots in Districts 7 and 11. The people involved don't match any known criminal records."

I look down and examine the blurry shots that we got of the criminals. "Are they part of this...insurrection?"

Hatchet cracks his knuckles, face blank. "Doubt it. They'd have more backing. Seems as though they relied on distraction and guile to get things done." He points to the sniper shot. "They set up a single sniper rifle to fire itself at exactly where the executioner would be standing. Then they relied on the chaos to get the Martins and Raleigh out of there. Granted, Mr. Martin was killed but the other two are still out there. They're smart. But I think they're not backed by the resistance."

I nod in approval. "Your tactical expertise will prove useful, Hatchet," I say. "I've sent Jo out. She'll be leaving within one or two days. Might have to stick around in case her tribute makes it past Day 7. Interviews and all. Rudolph, or Lightning, whatever, is going to beat them to the punch in District 11. You got me?"

Hatchet nods. "Sir, what do you think they want with these...civilians?"

I lean forward. "I'm not generally one to talk about classified intel, Hatchet. But because you're the only Gamemaker to have had this job all twenty-three years these glorious Games have been in motion, I think that I can make an exception."

Hatchet doesn't visibly react to this. He's stoic, and I appreciate him for that. I can tell him anything and feel like he'll make the best of the information. "Go on."

"I think you might be wrong about them not being with the resistance," I yawn. "I think that they want a figurehead. They don't care about the girl. They just want an excuse to fight back." I stand to my feet, opening my drawer and pulling out a bullet. "They're just as selfish as we are."

"They believe they're doing what's right," Hatchet says cautiously.

I scoff. "What's _right _is unimportant. All that matters is keeping order. But regardless, get me proof that they're working alone, and I will believe you. Thank you, Hatchet. That will be all."

The Gamemaker nods. "You're welcome. Sir."

With that he walks out the door, leaving me to my own devices.

I smile calmly.

One way or another, everything will fall back into place.

* * *

_start C:/program/insur/log_

_If you are reading this, then that means that you cracked a code created by some of the brightest minds the Capitol had to offer. _

_Emphasis on "had," considering these scientists defected to the insurrection and are dead now. _

_Anyways, congratulations. You undoubtedly are very gifted in the art of technology, and aren't loyal to the Capitol. Which makes us friends!_

_For a while now I've wondered what lies over the ocean._

_We set out on our voyage today._

_I'm not sure how to feel about it, to be honest._

_The ocean has always been an indomitable force. The floods supposedly destroyed everything, leaving Panem and Panem alone as a beacon of hope._

_At least, that's what we were taught to believe and have always believed._

_Then again, they are renowned liars._

_So what reason do we have to believe that other civilizations didn't survive the collapse?_

_Panem's word?_

_No. _

_The insurrection dismissed my wonderings with laughter. They had "more important things" to take care of._

_My crew is ready to go. My ship is ready to sail._

_Of course, because we didn't have the insurrection's backing, our ship isn't as good as it could have been and the voyage will take a lot longer. Glad I'm leaving them behind._

_I plan to preserve these pages and transmit them back to Panem on an encoded radio frequency. I trust the scientists to have taken care of all the details._

_For now, this is merely a way to record my thoughts and documents in case the insurrection decides that they don't need us either and make us "disappear."_

_If this is the final transmission that you receive, assume that we died with our mission incomplete._

_user_signout: nltl_


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey all!**

**Apologies for the super-long break in things. End of the year shit and whatnot. Now that I'm out of school I hope to be able to update all of my fics much more frequently. Now then, time to FINALLY get back to seeing what they've been up to.**

* * *

**Renegade**

**Jasmine POV**

_"Hey, are you in? Hello? Jasmine?"_

"Shut up, I'm busy."

God dammit, the little idiot thinks he can just talk in my ear all he wants. Does he know how hard it is to blend in here? Especially when you're over six feet tall and quite intimidating. At the very least this uniform conceals my face so I can at least pretend to be someone in charge. People tend not to question people who act in charge, even if they're not. Little tip I learned a long time ago.

District 11 is one of the most heavily guarded in the nation due to being the biggest. A riot here would be bloody on both sides. Which is why I'm just hoping to snatch Cameron and DJ's mother before they're killed and just go. Shawn's already put them on their toes, but fortunately I've been here since before then. Regardless, they're on high alert. The only thing that's kept me alive is me giving off the impression that I belong here.

_"Hey, look, we're running low on time. Aren't you supposed to be getting over to the torture room?"_

"Shut _up, _Sam. I'm busy," I whisper.

Yeesh. He needs to learn when not to talk. I mean, yeah, he's the only reason I actually managed to get inside due to his position on District 11's Peacekeeper team. Some kind of technician or guard or something. But he's going to blow everything before I even get the chance to get them out of here if he doesn't stop talking into the earpiece. This operation is shaky at best and downright moronic at worst. It basically hinges on my personal knowledge of Lightning's incompetent way of running this place and that's about all. We're hanging on by a fucking thread here.

I can't let Shawn down.

I stride confidently past Peacekeepers milling about. They're on the lookout for suspicious activity. But as Lightning's in charge here, the Capitol didn't see fit to give him anyone who was actually intelligent enough to not follow everything he says blindly.

So basically. Whole bunch of guards. None of them are bright enough to fix a lightbulb.

"Are you authorized to be in here?"

The guard stands at the door to the interrogation room. I walk up to find that I'm a head taller than him. "Are you questioning me?" I spit. "I have clearance to be in here and I don't need you standing in my way! Got it?" I bark.

The guard gulps and stands aside. I have to fight to keep from snickering.

Works every time.

I tuck my hands behind my back as I examine the vent system. Sam had better be in position or else this is going to blow up in our faces. Literally.

I remain in the back. In one of the cells on the other side of the glass is a shivering, bruised, bleeding boy who looks terrified out of his wits. Lightning is circling around him like a bird of prey.

My eyes find the other cell, and the dead woman inside with a pool of blood around her.

I nearly vomit, but that wouldn't exactly do wonders inside my helmet.

They haven't even been here long! They were only taken two days ago, around when Dawn and the Martins were scheduled to be executed! Why they didn't try to do the same thing here is anyone's guess.

Lightning continues pacing. "I keep thinkin' that there's something you're not telling me, shrimp!" He grabs Cameron by the chin. "I keep thinkin', 'Lightning, why do you keep doing this? It doesn't look like he knows anything. Why don't you just kill him?'" He releases his hand and looks him in the eyes. "Lightning's kinda starting to think this is just a waste of time. So I'll kill you slowly like the lady, I guess. Maybe get something to eat. Lightning don't like blood all that much but he'll do what he has to."

He closes his hand around the boy's throat, and I rap sharply on the door. He needs to get in here for the plan to work. I glance around. Four guards, all big and brutish. Figures he'd have them around. Moron wouldn't know subtlety if it smacked him over the head. Well...subtlety DOESN'T smack people over the head but...whatever.

Lightning turns, rolling his eyes. "What do you want? Lightning's busy beating this shrimp up when he did absolutely nothing. What's the problem."

"Sir, if you could come out here for a moment-"

"Lightning don't take orders from you! YOU take orders from ME!"

"Sir, why do you insist on referring to yourself in the third person?"

He snarls and curls his fists before kicking open the door, clearly furious at being interrupted.

_"It's ready," _Sam whispers in my ear. I don't respond. I can't afford to.

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?" Lightning demands, walking up to me. He looks up at me in surprise. He probably hasn't had to talk _up _at someone before. It's probably a new experience for the bugger.

"I'm a Peacekeeper, same as yourself," I retort. "He obviously doesn't know anything and it'd be more efficient to just kill him already. He's suffered enough. What'd you do, pull his fingernails out?"

"Put needles beneath his nails," Lightning corrects as if it's an important point to argue about. "There's a difference."

My eyes glance to Cameron again to see that his fingers are indeed bleeding something terrible. Poor soul...I'm going to get him out of here. Just another minute.

"That's not much better, mate."

"What's it to you how I run my business?" Lightning asks, pulling out his gun. I don't look at him, instead determining how long it would take to knock out the guards' visors before Sam activates the gas. Two of them are wearing helmets, two of them aren't. Ten seconds at the most. Lightning isn't wearing a helmet, which means I'll just have to kill him personally.

"No sir," I say, pretending to stare at the floor. Lightning nods in satisfaction and puts his gun back down.

"Good. Now if you'll excuse me Lightning has some torturing to-"

The gas leaks into the room and I spring into action. One guard's head against the wall, cracking the visor. The second one with a visor fires his gun and I yell out as pain pulses through my arm. I ignore it and kick him out from under his feet and breaking his visor.

The sound of laughing fills the air as the two other guards fall to their knees, laughing uncontrollably. I quickly knock them out, no sweat.

Lightning fires off a couple more rounds, his face glistening with sweat. I run to the door but he slams me in the back with his full weight. With a snarl I turn around and throw a few punches at him, which he returns. He tries kicking my legs out from under me. I nearly fall to the ground.

Quickly, I punch him in the throat. With a small _"gak" _sound, Lightning falls to the ground and finally succumbs to the laughing gas, flailing around on the floor uncontrollably. I quickly take one of the visors and open the door to Cameron.

"Who...are you..." he wheezes weakly. I don't respond, instead placing the helmet on him so he doesn't have to worry about breathing.

"I'm here to help," I say. "Come on. Let's go."

The sound of uncontrollable laughter grips the entire section of the facility. I can hear the approach of helmeted guards. I lift Cameron onto my back and run towards the planned exit.

The sewer system wouldn't have been my first choice for an exit. Hell, I hate it being so cramped in there.

But that doesn't matter. My job is my job, and this kid needs to get out of here. No matter the cost.

* * *

**Renegade**

**Shawn POV**

We had to kill the mom today.

It wasn't what I wanted to happen at all. No one would want that. We'd hoped to get all three of them out of there alive. But Mrs. Martin had been shot pretty bad and she knew that she'd only slow us down. Just as selfless and foolish as her daughter apparently. I just need to keep myself distanced from it and I won't feel bad about being the one to pull the trigger.

The girl, Dawn, has been a wreck. It's been twenty-four hours since we rescued them and twelve hours since we had to kill her best friend's mom. Poor girl...I know how it feels to lose shit. The three of us are sitting around the fire. The rest of our men were killed. Apparently some Peacekeepers here can actually aim for shit.

Why am I thinking about this so matter-of-factly? I can't just shut off my fucking emotions, can I? All the Martins are dead, all my men are dead, and here I am making jokes. What the hell, Shawn?

I sigh and sit down next to the girl. Better try to at least get her to go with us. Her parents are probably dead by now as well. I'm not sure what I should say though. That Bridgette would be proud of her? For getting both of her parents killed and leaving her best friend running from Peacekeepers? At the very least I have Jasmine. She has nothing.

"Hey," I say softly. Dawn stares into the fire, not looking at me. Dave is sharpening a knife. It's pretty clear he's just busying himself.

"What do you want?" she responds, a slight sniffle entering her voice.

"Just wanted to talk," I reply quietly. "Look, I'm not really one for comfort."

"Everyone I know is probably dead," she says. "Bridgette, her parents, my parents...she sacrificed herself for something. But this wasn't it."

"What was it for then?"

"Not...this." Dawn gestures around. "I thought that her sacrifice would make a difference." She puts her head in her hands. "It's just made things so much worse...I thought we were being optimistic. Were we just that naive?"

I sigh, and look her in the eyes. "Let me tell you a story. Words are empty, I know. But it's better than just saying 'I'm sorry for your loss,' right? Dave, you can come over if you want."

"Pass."

I turn to Dawn and clear my throat. "I've been with this resistance for a few years now. I started like you did, with someone I know being reaped into the Games. Namely, my brother. I was born in District 10. I knew there was no way he'd win. Sure enough, he died in the Bloodbath. We mourned." I sigh. "But I thought that was the way things had to be, and I'd never known anything different. So while I was saddened by his death I didn't really blame the Capitol for it.

"That is, until at the end of the Games. The Head Gamemaker wanted to add an extra layer of drama and shit. He decided to bring back all the dead tributes for the grand finale as corpses. As zombies." I look at her. "I had to see my brother's body being controlled like some kind of drone...I...I was young. It freaked me the hell out." I shudder. "I hated the Capitol for doing that.

"They didn't use that gimmick again. Not out of _morality, _mind you, but because the Capitol thought that seeing all the contestants doing a zombie walk looked absolutely ridiculous and goofy." My temper rises. "And my brother Lane's body came back with his head cut off, which _certainly _wasn't how he died!" I snarl.

"That's terrible," Dawn chokes out. "I...I know we've both lost a lot."

I nod. "I know. So I decided to try to run away. They would've killed me but I'd been training some in self-defense, just...just in case. I managed to get out and was picked up by the resistance. I was weak. Mourning. They helped me heal." I stand, and extend my hand towards her. "And now I'm going to help you, okay? If you'll let me."

Hesitantly, Dawn takes my hand and I pull her to her feet. I grin. "We'll give 'em hell, okay?"

She nods, a determined look on her face. "Okay. What's the plan?"

I exchange a look with Dave. I grin sheepishly. "We, uh...we run."

"I thought we were going to give them hell?" Dawn asks. "What happened to that?"

"We lost more men than we planned on," Dave explains. "The plan was just to get you back to District 13 via hovercraft but the Capitol's locked down. We're pretty far away."

"I don't think we've spoken," Dawn says, walking over to shake hands with Dave. "Where are you from?"

"District 5, the works," Dave spits. "I wanted out a few months back and they were happy to take me. Just...keep all that gunk away from me."

"Don't know why he chose this assignment if he hates getting dirty," I joke, making sure my gun is loaded. "But anyway, here's the plan."

I sit down. Dave and Dawn follow suit.

"We need to get out of this district and quick. We're low on ammunition, which could be a problem. Actually? We can just take Peacekeeper guns. They're easy to use. Don't know why they're so terrible at hitting people but that doesn't matter. So we stow away on a train and just get as far _away _from the Capitol as we can."

"Uh, problem?" Dave folds his arms. "We have to go through District 2 and the Capitol to get there. They'll be on high alert."

"Which is why we have to move quickly," I say, pulling out a map of the surrounding area. "You'd be surprised how dim some of these guards are. You just put on a Peacekeeper uniform, act like you belong there, and they don't question you."

"Do you think there's actually a uniform my size?" Dawn asks, gesturing to her tiny frame. I bite my lip.

"Uhhhh...good question. Very very good question. I'm probably..." I scratch the back of my head, flaking dandruff over my shoulders. "Uh...I don't know. Maybe we get on and then sneak you on board. I know the layout of these things. At the back there's a door guarded by four or five Peacekeepers. Easy pickings. We let you on, then jump off whenever we can."

"These trains go at like two hundred miles per hour," Dave points out. "We'd be flattened."

"We'll improvise," I say calmly. "Now, is everyone ready?"

Dave rolls his eyes. "We can't take them all on ourselves. This is a ridiculous plan and you're going to get us all killed."

"Do you have a better idea?" I ask, slinging my bag over my shoulder and starting to walk away. Dawn follows, snickering with a new resolve and sense of humor.

Dave opens for a mouth for a moment, closes it, and follows.

* * *

**District 2 Victor/Peacekeeper**

**Jo POV**

I lean down over the bloodied corpses in the woods, examining them. The bullets were at a close enough range to pierce through the armor. I was led to believe that these renegades were snot-nosed cowards who had a much bigger bark than bite. But no, these shots were clean and efficient. I lean down, allowing my usual indifference to compel me. It won't matter whether I find them or not. The end result will be the same.

I finger my handgun, trying to remain casual. In reality it's a bit of a nervous tic. I don't let anyone know that. To them I am cold and unforgiving. Which I suppose is true.

I quickly check the standings on the Games. Day 8. Eva's messing around with those two brats. I recall my interview last night. Blaineley listens somewhat to my problems but I know that she would sell me out for a good story. The Capitol is full of two-timing bastards who would do anything to get out of boredom. I'm constantly surrounded by other Peacekeepers that I supposedly "command" but whom I suspect would turn on me the instant I show any sign of being anything but a machine.

They weren't exactly subtle. They should be relatively easy to follow. I was told that they may or may not be part of some kind of resistance. Capitol grew sloppy if that's the case. Aren't they supposed to put this kind of shit down before it starts? It hasn't even been 25 years yet and they're already having to blackmail people to do their dirty work. Oh, of course they want to be all "we can't let the people know we're weak" or whatever but how does sneaking around the districts using a small force to ask questions about where people went any better?

Lightning wasn't of much help when he tried to contact me. The comm came on and all it was was him laughing like a lunatic. Fucking moron. At the very least we managed to kill some of them. Pity it wasn't public. That would quell any rumors or thoughts of rebellion.

I tap my handgun again.

My comm comes on.

_"Sir! We've found another body!"_

I turn away from my subordinates and hesitate before responding. "Understood. Who is it?"

_"It's the last remaining Martin. Bullet through the head and wound in the stomach. Looks like they couldn't take her along."_

"Ruthless," I growl, turning to look at the body of a Peacekeeper. "Do we have an ID on who the two are?"

_"One of them. Dave Adams, fled from District 5 just recently. Rather out of character for him."_

"What about the other?"

The voice on the other end takes a while before responding.

_"We don't know. We ran facial recognition and he's not in any of our records. He might be pretending to be deceased."_

Idiot.

"If he were pretending to be dead," I say slowly, as if explaining it to a child, "then that fact would still be on our records! Who is he?"

_"We don't know. Fortunately, we HAVE notified the entire area to be on the lookout for him."_

"Anything else?"

_"We also have the names of the people who rescued Cameron Wilkins."_

"Excellent, but that's not my job," I explain, trying to keep the condescension out of my voice. "District 11 is nowhere near here. Lightning can handle it."

_Pft, yeah right._

The voice on the comm sighs. _"Very well, sir. Your orders?"_

"Hang tight. I gotta get in their head. See what they'd do. I'll get back to you."

I turn off the device and look around.

If I only had two men escorting a fragile teenage girl to god-knows-where with only limited ammo, what would I do?

Well, for starters, I'd find more ammo. And District 2 is just southeast of District 7. Trains pass through all the time. And as airtight as the Capitol claims to be on security, their trains could use some better protection. Apparently Antonius is more concerned with creating more weapons than actually implementing them.

So, assuming that they manage to bypass security on a train, where would they go? All trains lead to the Capitol, which I highly doubt would be a desirable place for renegades to visit. No, they'd need to either exit before the train lets them off, or just travel wherever the train takes them.

It'd be a pain in the ass to organize a nationwide train search at any rate, so the sooner we find them the better. All trains heading out of District 7 will need to be stopped and searched. The border between Districts 7 and 2 must be guarded.

They must not leave, to possibly regroup with the terrorists from District 11.

I start relaying the orders, barking them out out of habit but not really feeling them.

I check my tablet again. Eva's still alive.

Good. She'd better win.

I look at my hands, and around me at all this shit I have to deal with. My thoughts stray to Antonius's arrogant smirk and psychotic gun fiddling.

Then again, maybe not.

* * *

**Gamemaker**

**Chef Hatchet POV**

I've found that the key to lying effectively is to tell the truth as often as possible. You acquire a reputation for being honest, people will be more inclined to believe you. Won't question you. Had to backstab a lot of people to get the Capitol to trust me, but I'm finally next in line to the position of Head Gamemaker. It's been twenty-three years but finally everything's going good. No jinxing it though.

The Games are stupid. Why punish the districts? That'll only just rile 'em up and make 'em ready for some rebellion. You slip once, the spark will catch and suddenly everything's up in flames. Fuckin' loons, the lot of them. Antonius just wants to stay in power and doesn't actually understand how to rule. With any luck the coup will be quick and we'll be able to peacefully repair conditions with the districts.

I fold my arms, staring at the data I've collected. There are a lot of players on the board here. I don't even know why Billy selected Trent to help. Fuckin' idiot didn't even do anything 'til he went bonkers. Really, all I could do for him was just make sure muttations were slightly less aggressive and hopefully avoid him. Even then Chris is breathing down my neck like a fuckin' piranha. Fucking hate that guy.

An alert on my earpiece and Billy's voice comes through.

_"Sir, we've got a problem."_

"What kind of problem? Not sure what you're talking about, boy."

_"This is a secure line, B's made sure of it. Speak freely."_

I groan and close the door to my room. "What is it? We found out?"

_"You know Scarlett?"_

"Yeah."

_"She knows that we exist and says that if we don't do what she says she has a way to expose us."_

I don't respond for a while. I look again at the data I collected, then at the picture of Scarlett.

_"You still there?"_

"Yeah yeah," I respond offhandedly. "This puts a wrench in things. Does she know I'm in charge?"

_"No, we're keeping that from her. I don't know why she hasn't threatened us into telling her. Maybe it slipped her mind?"_

I shrug before realizing that he can't see me. "Dunno. Keep an eye out. This might change things. If she knows who we are then any murders could be traced back to us. And she won't keep using us forever. We have to have a backup plan in case things don't work out."

_"The Games are set to conclude soon. We're down to the final five. I think that we could at the very least recruit the victor. Hell, I wish we'd have thought of it sooner. All those years Mike and Brick could've been helping us were spent drinking away their sorrows and shit."_

I growl at his carelessness. "You do realize that you could be heard by other people?"

_"Relax, boss. I've got this. You just keep doing what you're doing and come up with a contingency plan, got it? Got it. Anyway, Billy out."_

The rat hangs up before I have the chance to get in a final word. Rude bastard.

I sigh and look over everything. Assuming that we can get our hands on the victor and turn him or her to our cause, what good would that do? We're still trapped here, with limited time left before that bitch decides we're no longer useful and rats us out. We're trapped here as long as she has leverage on us.

Unless...we make her "leverage" seem fake. In the case that we're going to be discovered, I'll step forward and claim that I falsified records to scare people. That Miller's team was a ragtag group working on their own. I'll need to plant evidence that I falsified the documents without actually falsifying the documents. It'd be sacrifice, but at any rate it'd probably set her back, maybe give us time to haul ass out of the Capitol need be. My last report to District 13 was optimistic, would be a pity to come back with our tails between our legs but it'd be something.

I'd be dead, but hell. I don't got much left to live for.

* * *

_start C:/program/insur/log_

_A crew member died today. Slipped and cracked his head against the side of the ship before drowning. We couldn't save him._

_I feel terrible about it._

_People keep dying wherever I go and there's nothing I can do about it._

_It's been merely a week since we first set sail over the ocean. There has been no insurrection or Capitol troops following us for an ambush._

_I'm not used to it._

_I miss him. At least he could make me feel safe._

_But escaping my district meant that I could never see him again. I chose that._

_I wish I didn't. The insurrection only wanted me for their own selfish reasons._

_Hell. They were in the pocket of District 13, who made it clear that they would support us as long as they weren't directly implicated in anything._

_Maybe I shouldn't be talking about this. I don't know who's going to pick this up._

_But I want to talk about my thoughts, and no one here really wants to hear that._

_I probably don't have to use this journal. It's fairly worthless._

_But no matter what anyone says, I still do miss him. _

_But he's probably moved on._

_And as hard as it's going to be, I'm going to have to as well._

_Fuck._

_This trip is going to feel even longer than I thought._

_We're getting queasy for some reason and none of us are really sure why. According to our resident scholar transportation didn't use to be as smooth and seamless, and that "travel sickness" was a thing. Considering the materials used to make this boat were the bare minimum the insurrection could have provided, it's not too surprising._

_I really do hate them._

_Both sides of the conflict._

_Hopefully when we hit land the people there will be less selfish and greedy._

_But I wouldn't count on it._

_user_signout: nltl_

* * *

**By the way:**

**Shawn is the Agent Miller referred to on multiple occasions during FDTD.**

**Ezekiel's last name is Miller.**

**During the Final Five Special it was stated that one of Zeke's cousins had gone into the Games and died, and that another of his cousins had gone missing soon afterwards. ;)**


End file.
